They sought it with thimbles.
They sought it with care.
They pursued it with forks and
hope.
They threatened its life with a
railway share.
They charmed it
with smiles and soap.
Then the butcher contrived an ingenious
plan for making a separate sally
and had fixed on a spot unfrequented by man,
a dismal and desolate val ley.
In the valley, all those miles away from home,
I was hunting for the snout, when I realised
that I was not alone.
But the valley grew narrow and narrower still,
and the evening got darker and colder, till
merely from nervousness, not from goodwill,
they marched along shoulder to shoulder.
Then a scream, shrill and high, rent the shuddering sky,
and they knew that some danger was near.
The beaver turned pale to the tip of its tail,
and even the butcher felt queer.
"'Tis the voice of the
Jub -Jub,' he suddenly cried,
This man that they used to call
Dunce.
"'As the bellman would tell you,' he
added with pride,
"'I have uttered that sentiment
once.
"'Tis the note of the
Jub -Jub, keep count, I entreat,
You will find I have told it you
twice.
"'Tis the song of the
Jub -Jub, the proof is complete,
if only I've stated it thrice.
The beaver had counted with scrupulous care,
attending to every word.
But it fairly lost heart,
and outgrabe in despair,
when the third repetition occurred.